Bad Dreams
by LuvDJudge
Summary: Judge Hardcastle has a nightmare and wakes to ponder the deep friendship he and Mark share.


Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators.

**Bad Dreams **

By Susan Zodin

The Judge groaned in his sleep as stiff back muscles protested his rolling over. Flashes of images flowed through his brain. A newspaper headline about the prison escape of Jason Gilbert—one of Hardcastle's convictions for counterfeiting and theft. A phone call by the felon to Gulls Way—promising revenge. A wild chase on foot in a crowded warehouse —Mark and he running between stacks of boxes and around equipment—ducking down to the ground as bullets rang overhead and struck cartons and glass frames around them. They had jumped back up to resume the pursuit, when Gilbert stepped out from behind a pile of debris, holding a .38 on them.

"Yeah, that's right, Hardcase—come on!" he sneered. "Got only one bullet left in this thing, but I'll put it to good use." He stepped closer, stopping about two feet from them. "Yeah, one left---who's gonna get it? You?" He pointed the gun at McCormick. "...Or you, old man?" He swung the gun over to aim at the Judge's chest, then, grinning, slowly back toward Mark.

The Judge took a deep breath, watching Gilbert's crazed eyes. Mark stood silent and still, also breathing faster because of his recent exertion and...although he didn't want to admit it...because of fear. Not particularly for himself...but he was anxious about protecting Hardcastle and preventing a tragedy which he couldn't live through himself—the death of his friend and almost father.

As the gunman started to bring the revolver away from Mark back toward the Judge, McCormick felt his heart stop. Then he did something which he didn't have time to analyze or debate about but which was the only way left—he reached out and grabbed Gilbert's gun hand, pulling it back to focus the aim onto himself. His eyes rose to hold and challenge the other man's; his mouth suddenly dry as sand.

Hardcastle turned to look at his young friend, his heart feeling as if a vise crushed it. He couldn't breathe—didn't dare to move or the bullet would be on its way. My God, kid—whattya doing? He focused on Mark's blue eyes, first wide but steady, then closing quietly to wait for the end. "I'll kill you if he dies," he swore silently at Gilbert. "With my bare hands I'll rip you apart. Please...don't!" His soul screamed as the hammer tripped, then he heard the click of an empty chamber. His chest felt a sharp pain as his heart skipped a beat, then his breath came back. His fist connected with the criminal's jaw like a sledgehammer, and he leaned over the prone body flailing at it with wild blows and cries as McCormick grabbed him around the chest and tried to pull him away. "Judge...come on...Judge...quit it! He's out! Stop it!"

Hardcastle pulled away from the bruised body of the gunman, rounding on Mark with bloody, trembling hands. "What in the hell did you think you were doing?" he screamed, grabbing his shirt with both fists and shaking him roughly. "Dammit...don't you know by now you're important to me? You foolishly risked your life doing something only an idiot would do! Why?"

Mark looked calmly into the Judge's face as the older man swallowed hard to keep from busting out in tears. Anyway, he wasn't sure if they were tears of anger or tears of relief, so he was damned if he'd let them show. "God, kid...it would kill me to lose you," he mumbled, pulling the young man to him in a hug.

McCormick squeezed his arm as the world around them turned dimmer. "Just what I was thinking, Judge."

The scene faded into darkness with a last spark of light as adrenaline flooded through the Judge's body, waking him with a jolt. His sheets were soaked with sweat and his heart was still ticking away as if he had just finished a one-on-one basketball game with McCormick. Scenes of the event played out in his mind again. Damn that kid—he probably would do some crazy stunt like that for real. My God...he was ready to die for me. His tired brain tried confusingly to analyze the reasons why Mark acted as he did, but his heart came up with a quicker reply--one that he didn't admit out loud often, but now realized to be the truth. Because he loves me. He is my friend...and my son. And...I would do the same for him. Why am I so blessed? He smiled softly at the wonders enriching his life since meeting McCormick—the enthusiasm and enjoyment he got from being around the young man, especially after ten years of emptiness and depression had made him an isolated, bitter, "old" man—blindly stumbling through work duties, and vowing to never risk his heart again in loving another being the way he had loved....

He got up and changed into a new T-shirt and shorts, then stripped the bed, throwing the linen on top of the bathroom hamper. He strode downstairs and went out the patio door, over to the Gatehouse. He softly climbed the stairs and looked down at a sleeping McCormick, tangled in a pile of sheets and yesterday's dirty clothing. Damn it, boy...don't you dare get hurt. His throat began to ache as emotion formed a lump. "Don't you ever do anything like that again!" he suddenly yelled. McCormick jumped up with a violent lurch, fuzzily peering at the Judge. "Hardcase?" he mumbled. "Whatcha matter—the house on fire?"

The Judge grinned and patted his back. "Nah...go back to sleep, son. It was just a bad dream."


End file.
